Laced
by SarcasticRebellion
Summary: England is finding it hard to cope now that America has won independence. It pains him to see America's ungratefulness, but what will it take for him to uncover his true feelings for the blond nation? USUK Rated T, might go up because of later chapters.
1. Laced

**Author's Note:**

**I don't own Hetalia; if I did, USxUK would be canon :3**

* * *

The days stormed by in agonizing blurs clouded by the sweet haze of alcohol. It had been like that for some time now for England. His weeks were filled with drinking glass after glass, and he could only watch with hurt, drunken eyes as those weeks turned into months, into years, decades.

...It had been almost a century, but the wound and the memory that came with America's revolving was as fresh and bleeding as ever. There were days when he was sure he would die of a broken heart. The Great British Empire was almost unrecognizable, having turned into a drunken, sulking mess.

And when he came to meetings like that, no one questioned him. They probably didn't care. _They_ didn't know that it killed him inside to see how America enjoyed his... _independence_ so thoroughly. It was like they were mocking England. It was painstaking to see all that arrogance brimming from the American, how he acted as if he had never depended on England.

It was eating away at him, and they didn't have a bloody idea.

Walking into a bar, it would be a common sight to see a messy-haired Arthur, drunken to the ears and sitting alone in a corner, staring off into space, face red and puffy from drinking and crying alike.

* * *

And that was exactly what he was doing now, drinking until he puked or passed out or, more times than less, both.

_Where did I go wrong? _he thought, eyes glassy and face red as if he'd break down and cry any second now. _I gave that brat all he could ever want... Could it have been **my** fault?_

"No, it's not my bloody fault! That damn wanker's just ungrateful!" England yelled out, arguing with himself yet again. He stood abruptly from his seat, knocking it down in the process. This, along with his outburst, attracted quite some attention. The Brit turned to give the other customers an angered glare.

Without thinking, he spoke again. "What the hell are you all looking at?" he challenged, narrowing his eyes at the crowd. He knocked the five or so glasses that he had drank empty onto the floor, shattering them all in his rage. This drew the attention of a security guard, who seized the drunken blond and half-carried, half-dragged him out of the bar.

England immediately retorted to this, desperately trying to free himself in a flurry of protests and insults. "'Hey, what the heck do you thing you're doing? Don't touch me!" he protested, but was already being dragged away towards the front door of the bar.

"Do you know who I am? _I _am the United bloody Kingdom!" But the door had already been shut in his face.

And just like that, he had managed to get himself kicked out.

* * *

It was by luck that England made it back to his home. He staggered over there, cursing under his breath as he fiddled with his house keys in an attempt to unlock the front door. It finally opened with creak, and the Brit stepped inside.

The effects of the alcohol were fading away; he was slowly regaining his sober state. With a sigh, the nation flopped himself down on the nearest couch. Sleep began to pull at him and he didn't protest, quickly falling asleep. He was glad for the rest; it wasn't often that he got much sleep. And he actually _dreamt _that night.

His dreams were pleasant; much better than this cruel reality.

In his dream, England was sitting on his favorite chair, eyebrows knitted together in concentration as he read the newspaper. He took a sip from his tea cup, features relaxing into a pleased expression as he drank in the sharp scents. England watched as night fell through the window, enjoying the quiet and peace while it lasted.

"England, England!" came a child's excited voice; _America's _excited voice. The young boy came into the room and stopped at England's side, eyes wide.

"What is it?" asked the Englishman, directing his attention to the younger blond. His expression softened, green eyes caring and fond as they fixated themselves on America's blue ones.

"Look!" and the American opened his mouth and pushed his tongue against one of his teeth, wiggling it. It was on the verge of falling.

England kneeled so that he was face-to-face with America, taken aback slightly at how tall he had grown. _He's growing so fast..._

"Oh, you're going to lose your first tooth!" he informed with a small smile.

America looked a bit scared at the prospect. Noticing this, England placed his hand on America's hair, ruffling the golden locks affectionately. "It'll be fine. It doesn't hurt. And when it falls, a fairy will come to you while you sleep and will take the tooth and give you some cash in exchange!" he assured.

"Really?" asked the young America. He did not doubt his guardian's word, but England probably believed in that tooth fairy more than America ever would. England gave a small nod. "Now go to bed. It's getting late."

America nodded and headed off, exciting the room and making his way to his own.

A few hours later, England decided to go check on his colony, rising from his seat and walking over to America's room. He opened the door silently, so he wouldn't awake the young boy he thought would be sleeping. Instead, he was greeted by an America who was fully awake, eyes wide and appearing to wait for something.

"America? I thought I told you it was bedtime," England scolded, making his way to the boy's bedside.

"I'm waiting for the tooth fairy," he explained calmly. "Do you think it'll get here soon?"

"It'll only come once your tooth has fallen," the Brit replied. "Rest now; it's way past your bedtime," he added more sternly.

"But I can't sleep... Will you sing for me?" America pleaded.

England gave a heavy sigh. "Very well." He cleared his throat and began.

"In sleep, he sang to me,

In dreams, he came to me."

America smiled and was quick to sing along.

"That voice which calls to me

And speaks my name."

They sang the two verses in union.

"And do I dream again,

For no-" England trailed off; America had begun to fall asleep. The Brit smiled and covered the young boy in a blanket.

"Good night, lad," he said as he left the room.

And then, all of a sudden, the dream switched into a haunting nightmare.

It was of the Revolutionary War. England was seeing himself pointing his weapon at America, the rain beating down on those who still stood. He began to toss and turn in his sleep as he recalled the part where he broke down and cried.

Cried because he thought this all to be his fault.

Cried because he was losing all he ever cared for.

Cried because it hurt.

Cried like he never did before.

And finally, England snapped awake. He was back home, not in the battlefield with its haunting memories and lifeless bodies. He turned to look at the calendar, feeling a pang of loneliness and pain hit him as he realized it was July the 4th today.

That meant another World Meeting, another 6 or so hours of watching America being oh-so-very-happy without him.

But nevertheless, he got up and ready to start the day. He was the Great British Empire; nothing could ever bring him down. He could be bloody fine without America.

_Right?_

* * *

**Poor, poor England :( **

**Anyway, the song he and America sing is from The Phantom of the Opera musical, if I'm not mistaken.**

**He sings it to baby America in Episode 14 of Season 2.**


	2. Tsundere

**I'm back ^^**

**Again, I do not own Hetalia...**

**... I think its pretty obvious.**

* * *

"Hey dudes, sorry I'm late!" America had just burst into the meeting room, interrumpting the arguments and conversations that had been taking place. He walked over to his seat, passing by a certain Brit on his way.

America couldn't help but steal a glance at England, feeling quite worried when he saw his former guardian's state. He looked skinny and pale - unhealthily so. When the Britian turned to look at America, the latter quickly looked away. Nevertheless, he had noticed the traces of dark circles that were slowly beginning to form under England's eyes from the lack of sleep.

America felt his heart drop. Guilt pooled inside the blue-eyed nation, but he kept trying to remind himself that it wasn't his fault. _If I had never become independent, there'd be no chance England could ever come to return my feelings... I _had _to do it._

It had been like that for Alfred during the past years. He spent days battling over his guilt at having hurt Arthur because he loved him.

_Yes, _no matter how much the ex-colony tried to deny it, he had fallen in love with the Englishman. But he was convinced that he didn't stand a chance at becoming England's love interest if he remained his colony, his little brother.

And now, he had gone and ruined it all...

America was quite sure that he had destroyed all the affection that England once had for him. The trust had been broken and all England probably felt for his former colony was pure hatred.

Alfred took a king-sized (hero-sized, as he liked to call it) chocolate bar from his shirt pocket, pulling back the red wrapper to reveal the sweetly scented treat. He munched absentmindedly, not paying attenttion to the meeting but remaining uncharacteristicaly quiet.

The American continued stealing glances at England, sure that no one had noticed.

France did. He wore his signature grin from ear to ear, chuckling lightly every time America turned to look at his former guardian.

When America's turn to speak finally came, he bolted up from his seat at once. _Finally!_

"Alright, as you all know, I'm gonna throw this freakin'-," he stopped to take a sip of soda and a bite off his cheesebruger, "- awesome party tonight. I'll see you all there!" The countries stared with blank expressions as America went on and on about how totally butt-kicking the fireworks would be and how the cake was going to be a glow-in-the-dark one this time.

The meeting came to an end. As everyone filed out the room, Alfred gave them an invitation in the shape of his flag. The room was almost vacant now, except for Arthur and Alfred. Little did they know that Francis was out on the hallway, smirk growing wider as he evesdropped into the conversation.

It was silent for a few moments, with the two countries exchanging looks. _Look at us... There's no point in denying it - we _need _each other. _

Then, America spoke.

"Hey, I-Iggy...Are you coming to the party tonight?" he held out an invitation for the Englishman to take.

Arthur, however, merely glared at him. "I'd rather burn in he-," he was cut short as France came in and stepped on his foot. "Gah! Wanker!" cursed England.

"He _is _going," interrumpted the Frenchman. Alfred, oblivious to all this, simply smiled and handed France the invitaton as he left the room.

England waited until America walked out of earshot. Then, furious, he turned to France. "Why in bloody 'ell did you do that!?"

France sighed. "Listen. There's obviously something going on between you and Ameri-"_._

"I have no ruddy idea what you're talking about!" interrumpted the younger European nation. He glared intensly at the Frenchman, as if daring him to say something. England was still bent on stubbornly denying the obvious existance of his feelings for America.

There was a word to describe people like England, France remembered. Japan had once said it...

But what was it?

Ah, yes, _tsundere._

"I know you, Angleterre. Here's your chance to sort things out," France said, offering England the invitation he had previously declined.

The Brit consider it for a moment. He's actually got a point. With a nod, he took the invitation, stuffing it into the pocket of his coat.

"Would you like a ride home?"

England just shook his head.

He wasn't going home; he was heading straight for the bar.

* * *

"Msh...Damn wanker! My cooking'sh not that bad!" England slurred, speaking with himself. He was at the bar again, his face plastered against the wooden counter. He hadn't drank much just yet; America's party would begin in a few hours.

He had promise to be there and, like every gentleman, he kept true to his word.

"Gimme ah'nother...ah'nother... drink!" he ordered. He gave the bartender some cash and was given another glass. England gulped the alcohol quickly.

"I'm-a not gonna drink 'nymore," the Englishman murmured to the empty glass. Just then, an older man, about 40 years old, settled on the seat next to Arthur. He turned to look at the drunken nation, smirking and chuckling at his state.

"Whats wrong, kidd'o? Suffering over some ... _lost love_?" the man teased in a heavy Scottish accent. He shook his head, mocking England.

It took Arthur some time to figure that the man was talking to him. "N-no..." he slurred.

...Wait. lost love?

The question bounced around in his skull. Suffering over lost love...

Well, was he? Did he actually _love _Alfred?

He did.

Everything began to click into place. The jealousy he felt at the prospect of America leaving him for someone else, the pain he felt at the younger nation's abandon. The emotions were overpowering. This wasn't the alcohol. This, he was sure, was _love._ If it really existed, he had found it. If he had ever felt it in his life, it was now.

Suddenly, he bolted from his seat and hurried out the bar in a haze. He was determined to go and find Alfred, to apologize, to spill out his true feelings.

But the question was: Did Alfred love him back?

* * *

**Sorry for the lateness...**

_**And **_**the evil cliffhanger.**


	3. Unlaced

**_Sorry_ for not updating sooner... school got me and my computer was being an arse.**

**This chapter'll be a bit more long-ish. _And _the Bad Touch Trio will play a very important part in finally joining the British tsundere and obnoxious American together for good!**

* * *

By the time England had made it to America's house, a light rain was already beginning to fall. The skies had long since darkened, and the moon was lost somewhere in the heavy coat of rain clouds above. The streets were dark and vacant as Arthur staggered through them. He payed little attention to his surroundings even as the rain penetrated his coat and slowly chilled the Brit to the bone.

He did not drink heavily at the bar, so he was almost fully sober when he reached America's house. Through the rain, he could make out an American flag waving in the wind. He sighed and hesitantly raised a hand, ready to knock, only to pull it back.

_What am I thinking!? And what the bloody hell am I supposed to do? Go up to him and tell him, "I love you"?_ _No! What if he doesn't love me back? Gah! Ok, Arthur, you can do it, you can do it, you can do it..._

A million thoughts raced through his mind, and before he knew it, he built up his courage and gave a hard knock at the door. _Shite! You git, what have you done? _England considered running away before anyone answered the door, but it was too late. He watched, frozen in a mixture of emotions, as the knob turned, the door opened, and a certain American popped out.

"Oh, Iggy, you came!" America greeted with a cheery smile. Even the loud of his voice was somewhat lost in the blast of the music playing from inside. That smile... It was the same smile that the young America would greet his guardian with when he would come to see him all those years ago. When he was still a colony.

Arthur frowned and opened his mouth, about to retort on how he despised being called ''Iggy'', but was ushered inside by America before he could protest. He blinked, struggling to take in his new surroundings. The lights were too bright, the music too loud. England let his gaze wander, turning to look at the fellow nations who had attended the party.

France was seated in an over-stuffed couch, at least a half dozen girls swarming all over him. The Frenchman held a half-empty glass of wine in one hand. He muttered indecencies to his crowd of fans, who giggled in turn. England squinted in France's direction. He could see Poland among the girls, and Lithuania, who was tugging at the Polish man's shirt, suggesting that they leave because it was getting late. "I like, totally love your hair!" England heard Poland say as he passed by. Lithuania sighed, an annoyed -and jealous- look on his face as he protested again. "Poland, please, let's just go..."

When France noticed the Englishman passing by, he grinned and directed his attention away from his fans for a few moments as he motioned for the other two members of the Bad Touch Trio to come to him. The Spaniard and Prussian returned the smirks, walking over to Francis. Once they were all united, France leaned over and whispered something in their ear, signaling towards Arthur with his eyes. All three smiled from ear to ear and nodded in unision.

England saw Japan over by America, and decided to join them. "C'mon man! Drink, drink!" America cheered on as he watched Japan taking a shot. He exploded into laughter as Japan's face began to turn a bright red color. "Did you like it?" questioned the American as Kiku finished his drink. Japan, his face red and expression sour, simply shook his head. He panted heavily, mouth hanging open and tongue lolling out. Alfred laughed all the more.

Arthur took a seat next to America. He grabbed a glass for himself and reached for the bottle of liquor, only to be stopped by the younger nation. "Whoa, dude! I'm warnin' ya, easy on the drink!" England glared at him, shooing his hand away and pouring some alcohol for himself anyway. The American laughed and shook his head as he watched his former guardian drink down the glass like it was nothing.

"Seriously, you're gonna get drunk again. It's not gonna be pretty, and I ain't gonna be the hero _there_!" The Briton took another drink and another. He began to fall off his chair, put was stopped by America, who caught the older nation in his arms. England gave him a hard glare, struggling to focus as the liquor turned his world to a blurred haze. He began to blush madly as he took notice of America's arms wrapped protectively around him, pulling England so close that he could scent the younger nation's perfume under the smell of alcohol.

America was momentarily lost as he admired the features of his former guardian. He had large eyebrows, blond hair, and such beautiful green eyes and was, overall, utterly gorgeous and perfect in the North American nation's opinion. He was finally snapped out of his fantasies when England spoke.

" 'Merica... You smell..." Arthur stopped, searching for the correct word. "... Nice," he finished, a triumphant look on his face. His speech was slurred by the alcohol.

The comment took America -who was still holding the Briton- by obvious surprise. He blinked in confusion. "Eh? Geesh, Iggy. Uhh... Thanks, I guess?"

Neither had noticed that a certain Frenchman had made his way over to the pair along with Prussia and Spain - it was the Bad Touch Trio. "Ohonhonhonhon! Would you two _at least _get a room?" he mocked, whipping his hair over his shoulder and tutting.

It was now America's turn to blush, helpless as his face unwillingly turned a soft pink. Seeing the obnoxious blue-eyed European, England's mind began to clear up a little. With a frown he began to try and push America away. "You twit! Get off me!" he snapped, although he would've much preferred to pull Alfred in for a deep kiss, to see just what that mouth of his tasted like...

And he was just about to, but then, the sober part of him spoke. _No_,_ I can't. Not with that frog and those two gits watching... _He protested no more as America propped him back onto the stool. The Trio, still there, exchanged looks. With a single nod, the three nations started putting their plan into action. They weren't called the Bad Touch Trio for nothing.

France leaned into England, who was struggling to stay on his chair. He brushed a few blonde locks out of the way and whispered into the younger nation's ear. A smirk crossed his face. "_Angleterre? _Don't you thing there's something you need to tell _Amerique?_" he teased.

"Ye- no!," England corrected himself. He began to blush yet again. France chuckled. "C'mon. I can tell you're undressing him with your eyes. Wouldn't you like that? See what he tastes like right down _there_? Tell him how much you want him inside you. There's no denying _l' amour_, " he murmured to the Englishman, suppressing a full-blown laugh as he noticed the Briton's erection slowly becoming more visible. Francis was pleased to know that it was the work of his own dirty words.

"I can tell you're getting excited there. Why not as _Amerique _to help you with your little..._problem?_" "S-Sod off, frog!" Arthur shooed Francis away, but the Frenchman knew he had done his job well. _Very _well.

On the other hand, Prussia and Spain were both busy attempting to convince America to make the first move. It was harder, seeing as the American was still very much sober. The other countries were beginning to leave. The house was almost empty but for the Trio and America and England. Prussia had the first go.

"Look at him and tell me you don't want him. Such a nice piece of ass... He won't stay single for long," Gilbert teased, grinning.

"He-!" America shouted, but Prussia persisted. "You can keep being such a _dummkopf _and let him get away, or you can tell him how much you want to fuck him, tell him just were you want to touch him. Wouldn't it be fucking awesome, to have him _all _for yourself?"

America looked ready to protest, but Spain chimed in. "_Si, _wouldn't you like to have him _solo para ti_, all for you?" The Three smiled as America began to nod. "Tell him, _deja que tu corazon hable. _There is no denying _la pasión._"

"I'll tell him," Alfred promised. The Trio were pleased. "_Eh bien. _We've done our job, now we leave!" France announced in his sing-song voice. He and his two companions - the Spaniard and the Prussian - exited through the front door, leaving the two English nations completely alone in the house.

England, still drunk, began humming along to an old tune. America recognized the song. "Y-you used to sing that to me... _before_," Alfred commented. Arthur stopped his humming, turning to look at his former colony. "You still remember?" His voice was bearly above a whisper. England began to lean into America, until they were closer and closer. "I-Iggy? Wha-?"

Before either knew what was happening, England leaned even closer to America and gave him a kiss -his _first_ kiss. America was in utter shock. The nation's blue eyes went wide as saucers. The kiss was desperate and needy and reeking of liquor, but when Alfred tried to find tell-tale signs that these weren't simply the effects of the alcohol, he couldn't. It didn't matter; _England had just kissed him. _To say the American enjoyed the kiss would be an understatement.

England finally pulled away, a drunken smirk on his face. "W-what!? Why did you do that!?" Alfred demanded. Not that he was complaining; in fact, he had liked that quite alot. The smile on the Briton's face was quickly replaced by a frown at America's words.

"Isn't it obvious? I bloody love you, you git!"

"Bu-" America was cut short as Arthur spoke again.

"I've loved you since forever! And when you left -" England's voice rose to the point were he was almost shouting. "- when you left, I ... I thought I was gonna go mad." he continued in a voice that was bearly audible. Tears welled in his eyes. "I suffered from a broken heart for more than a bloody century, and no one gave a shite. Not even you," he sniffed, head down, and unwillingly released a few tears. Alfred attempted to wipe them away, only to have his hand slapped away by the Briton. "Do you realize how much it hurt? I gave you all you could've wanted... what a nice way to repay me. Thanks alot," England said, beginning to walk towards the front door.

America did little more than stand there completely dumbfounded, jaw hanging open as he struggled to process everything England had just told him. But when Arthur began to leave, Alfred immediately stopped him, grabbing his arm and pulling him into a kiss. The pair melted into an embrace, hands grabbing at anything they could. America slipped his tongue into England's mouth. He pulled the shorter nation closer as he let his tongue roam, causing his lover to moan into the kiss. By the time the two pulled away, they were gasping for air, their hair ruffled and face flushed.

"I'm sorry," Alfred said, looking the Englishman in the eye. And he meant it, truly did. "I did it because I thought you'd never love me back if I remained your colony... I'm such a selfish bastard. A-and the truth is... I love you, too. I always have. I thought you hated me after the way I repayed you, when clearly I- _we _loved each other." He cupped Arthur's face in his hands, getting rid of the tears with his thumbs.

Arthur responded by wrapping his arms around America's neck. "I love you," he repeated to the taller nation, who scooped him up and carried him bridal-style towards his bedroom.

Little did they know that just out the window was the Bad Touch Trio. They had watched it all. "Mission accomplished!" And a mixture of France's "Ohonhonhonhon's", Prussia's "Kesesesesese's", and Spain's hearthy "Hahahaha's" filled the night.


End file.
